


you say tomato, i say to-mah-to

by peterstank



Series: irondad bingo [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Irondad Bingo, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Whump, flangst, im a sucker for the spider squad so here you go, irondad and spideyson, rogue avengers trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-18 19:30:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20644472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterstank/pseuds/peterstank
Summary: “You’re Black Widow.”Nat swings off the bed. “That I am. And you’re Spider-Man.”His mouth opens and closes. He looks over his shoulder like there might be someone behind him that’ll save him, but of course they’re alone. “I-no, no I’m not, I have no clue where you got that idea, I mean—”Nat kicks away a pile of dirty laundry to reveal the suit.His shoulders fall. “Yeah okay. I’m Spider-Man.”or: when natasha romanoff shows up in peter parker's apartment with no explanation other thancome with me or people will die,he has no choice but to go with her, right? fingers crossed tony never finds out about it.





	you say tomato, i say to-mah-to

Natasha Romanoff has an idea, and when Natasha Romanoff gets an idea, it doesn’t just go away. It starts when their scanners pick up heightened levels of seismic activity in the barren wasteland that is Kansas. She’s been pretty bored lately seeing as they’re trying to keep a low profile and all. Fighting low level criminals just hasn’t been cutting it for her, but this promises something big. 

She’s all for jumping in until Steve says, “I don’t like our odds.”

It’s true, there’s only the four of them, what with Vision visiting Tony and Barnes in Wakandan rehab, but still. They have _ Wanda _with them. 

“You’re saying you think we need more manpower?”

“I’m saying I _ know _we need more manpower. Have you seen the radius of this thing? Whatever it is, it’s huge.”

So she nods, packs a bag, and slips out before anyone even notices she’s gone. Not like that’s hard or anything.

She hot-wires a car, switches out the license plate with one of the spare sets she keeps just in case, and makes good time on the drive to New York. 

Her idea is hazy in its structural integrity. It’s slightly manipulative and maybe a little low. Okay, definitely low. But hey, whatever it takes, right? 

She just wants her family back. Maybe this is the way to get the ball rolling in that direction again at last.

So she parks her car in a garage, shoulders her duffel, and walks through the city. The disguise she’s using is subtle but effective; people keep an eye out for a blonde bob and a form fitting suit, not shabby jeans, a wig of black curls, and a coffee-stained coat. 

There’s a little sandwich shop across from where she’s headed, so Nat ducks inside and orders two. Food is always a great ice breaker.

Five minutes later and she’s lounging on a twin sized bed, scanning every poster, every tacked picture from every family trip, every birthday card and wrinkled test with a circled red ‘A’. 

He’s a smart kid. He would be, naturally. It’s not surprising. 

Judging from the photos, his parents died too early. As he gets older, it’s just him and his aunt and uncle, and then time progresses and the uncle disappears from the pictures too. 

Nat plays with a rubix cube while she waits. Finally her ears perk at the sound of jingling keys, a slamming door, and the tell-tale scuffing sounds of a teenage boy dropping his ten-ton backpack on the ground and trudging to his room. 

“I wouldn’t get too comfortable yet, little spider. We’ve got places to be.”

Peter Parker stops dead in his doorway. He stares at Nat with wide eyes, and she has to admit, it’s a bit of a shock to see him, too. 

He’s… a _ baby. _She’d known his age already of course, after a little digging around in FRIDAY’s database. She knows he’s a sophomore at Midtown High, knows he’s three quarters of the way to being an orphan, and knows he moonlights as a crime fighting vigilante. 

It’s just that he’s so _ small. _

“You’re Black Widow.”

Nat swings off the bed. “That I am. And you’re Spider-Man.”

His mouth opens and closes. He looks over his shoulder like there might be someone behind him that’ll save him, but of course they’re alone. “I-no, no I’m not, I have no clue where you got that idea, I mean—”

Nat kicks away a pile of dirty laundry to reveal the suit. 

His shoulders fall. “Yeah okay. I’m Spider-Man.”

“You’ll wanna hide it better than that if you want to keep your aunt out of it.”

Peter rubs the back of his neck. “She, uh, already knows.” 

“Does she?”

“I mean, I don’t tell her _ everything, _ I’m not lame, it’s just that after Mr Stark gave me my suit back I thought I was alone and I put it on and then she found me in it, and she _ totally _freaked out, and wow okay I’m rambling. I’m, uh, I’m gonna shut up now.”

Nat smirks. She flips a Coney Island themed snow globe over and watches the glitter fall onto the beach. “Tony took away your suit?”

“Uh, yeah, but it was only for a little bit. I mean, I really messed up and—you don’t care about the details. It was like, months ago anyway.”

Nat tilts her head. “Does it bother you?”

“Does what bother me?”

“That he can just do that? Take your suit away on a whim the minute _ he _decides you’ve messed up?”

All at once Peter’s face changes. His jaw locks, his arms cross. Defensive, bordering on _ off_ensive, eyes shuttering and darkening at once. “I did mess up. And no, it doesn’t bother me. What do you want, anyway? Because if it’s to get me to go rogue, it won’t happen. I don’t play for Team Steve.”

Nat’s lip quirks against her own will. She steps closer. “You’re a perceptive little spinner, aren’t you?”

“And you’re a fugitive.”

Nat shrugs. “Doesn’t bother me. Does it bother you? Are you gonna turn me in?”

Peter studies her for a minute. “No, I won’t turn you in. But you should probably go.”

“Go? But we just got started, and I brought lunch.” His eyes widen at the brown bag she holds up, the one full of subs. “Hungry?”

He hesitates, eyes flitting to the window. “Alright, but not here. I’m pretty sure Mr Stark monitors my building.”

There’s something sort of endearing about that Nat can’t quite put her finger on, but she doesn’t bother to dwell on it. Instead she slips past him and walks right for the front door. “Coming?”

* * *

In the end, it doesn’t take much. Two number fives and a couple of sodas later, and Nat gauges Peter pretty well. He’s an eager kid with a lot to prove and the whole outlet of Queens just isn’t doing it for him. He wants more, and the prospect of lives being lost if he _ doesn’t _help will weigh on his conscience until he’s old and grey and dead.

So, she uses the right words. Talks about the right things. Brushes off his protests like they’re not at all something he needs to concern himself with.

“What about Aunt May?”

“You’re on the decathlon team, right? Just tell her you have an emergency meet somewhere and need to stay a few nights with a friend. She won’t have any reason to doubt you if she doesn’t catch you swinging around the city, right?”

Peter shifts, picking at the wax paper that his sandwich had been wrapped in. “Okay, but what if what we do ends up on the news? I’ll be so screwed.”

Nat considers that. Leans forward and eyes him seriously. “We ask for forgiveness, not permission. You may be a child, Peter Parker, but you have abilities the rest of us don’t. If you’re sitting in your room studying Spanish flash cards, you’re wasting them.”

Something changes in his demeanor after that. He nods. “Okay, alright, but what about Mr Stark? I mean, I can probably deal with Aunt May, but if he finds out I went with you he’ll be _ so _pissed off—”

She holds up a hand. “Leave Tony to me.”

And just like that, four becomes five. 

* * *

It takes them a little bit to get to Kansas, and so Nat ends up getting to know the kid better than she’d predicted. 

At first he’s fidgety and awkward and keeps looking at her like he expects her to snap his neck at any second, but slowly he starts to loosen up. 

He fiddles with the radio. Settles on classic rock, which Nat doesn’t mind so much. It reminds her of Tony. Really, everything this kid does reminds her of Tony. He talks with his hands, plays with spare mechanical parts in the passenger seat until he creates something noteworthy; then he takes it apart and builds something better with the exact same parts. The fast talking, the emotional deflection, it’s all very transparent and interesting.

They make pit stops at a few burger joints. He takes a nap in the back seat. She doesn’t sleep at all. 

When they get to the hangar Steve texted her the location of, Peter pulls his suit out of his backpack. 

“You’re gonna wear that?”

He blinks owlishly at her. “Uh, yeah? They don’t know my identity. Or—do they? You didn’t tell them, did you?”

Nat shakes her head. “Relax, little spider, I didn’t tell them. But allow me to impart upon you a little advice: living your life behind a mask only causes you trouble.”

“Right,” says Peter, as he pulls the mask on anyway. “Except that I’m a minor and totally not supposed to be here and if I’m ever caught, at least two people will want to kill me, so.”

Nat shakes her head. “Whatever Spidey. Come and meet the team.”

* * *

It turns out that Wanda and Sam are already off scouting out the perimeter, so it’s only Steve waiting for them. He’s leaning against the desk watching the radar with clouded eyes, cheek resting against his fist. 

“Didn’t sleep?”

He starts a little. “Romanoff, what—is that the kid from the airport?”

Nat shrugs. She drops her bag for now and walks over to the little couch in the corner of the makeshift living area—or whatever you could call it, being in the middle of an airplane hangar and all. 

“You said we needed numbers.”

“But Tony—”

“Isn’t his keeper,” she finishes smoothly, carving an apple slice with a knife. “Spidey is a ground vigilante. He’s flexible, aren’t you, Spidey?”

Peter blinks. The eyes of his mask are comically huge. “Uh, right. Flexible.”

“Besides, he’s a big boy, he can make his own choices. And it’s not like we’re asking him to write a letter to Ross on our behalf. We just need temporary back up.”

Steve frowns at her. “You’re making this into a smaller deal than it is.”

“Am I?”

“Yes,” Steve insists. “Listen, kid, I don’t need to be a rocket scientist to know you’re probably barely legal under there, and what’s more, we can’t just go snatching people out from under Tony’s feet. It’s not right.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Nat says, “I thought we were playing war here?”

“We’re… we’re working through the kinks of a dispute,” Steve says. “Tony is still our family and trying to hurt him like this just isn’t right—”

Nat leans forward, moving with her emotions, a fierce anger licking up the walls of her insides. She grips her knife tightly. “I’m not trying to hurt him. I would _ never _try to hurt him. This is to help him—to help all of us. If we can show him we can all work together again—”

“Oh my god, you’re trying to draw him out.”

Both Steve and Nat turn to look at Peter. Nat’s eyes flit to Steve, who still doesn’t seem pleased which means he doesn’t _ understand; _she focuses on the kid instead. “Yeah. Maybe. You think it’ll work?”

Peter shifts. “Uh, well—and I’m not saying I like, agree with this or anything, I mean, it’s pretty twisted—but if I _ did,” _he plops down on the couch opposite her, “I’d say that you’re already doing it wrong. Like, by now he probably knows I’m gone right? But you did that thing and blocked the tracker in my suit. At some point you’re gonna need to _ undo _that because like, he has to find me somehow, right?”

Nat nods grimly. “Kids got a point,” she says to Steve. “We’ll need to give him at least a general location to work with.”

Steve shakes his head. “You do realise how insane all of this is, right?”

“No, not really.”

He moves to let her access the computers. “The situation with the Accords hasn’t even been resolved. Tony is—”

“Mr Stark meets with Secretary Ross like, three times a week to try and get them amended,” Peter tells them.

Steve stills. “He does?”

“Uh, yeah? And he won’t even let my identity get out because he doesn’t want me to have to sign—which is like, I know it’s hypocritical, but at least on some way he agrees with you right? And it’s like, the whole time and he never even said revisions couldn’t be made but you guys _ still _ went apeshit and tried to kill him _ just _for suggesting maybe you should like, be considerate of other countries’ needs and boundaries? I mean the whole thing is really stupid from all sides, but if you ask me, you really messed up there.”

Steve stares. Then he scrubs a hand down his face. “Kids got another point.”

Even from behind the mask, Nat can tell Peter’s face is scrunching up. The tech is _ that _ sensitive. “You’re not even gonna bother to argue with me?”

Steve shrugs. “I’m too tired. I’ve thought about it so many times I can’t even remember what I was trying to say. I’m over a hundred years old, son. I just want my brother back.”

Peter’s fingers twitch. Then the next thing Nat knows, he’s lifting his mask. 

Steve’s whole stance changes. He sits up, eyes wide, and looks from Peter to Nat. “You—he’s a—I mean I knew he was on the young side, but I figured he’d at least be in college and—_how _old are you?!”

“Uh, sixteen.”

“And you _ knew _about this, Romanoff?”

“Relax,” Nat says, already back to focusing on the code in front of her. “Tony trusted him enough to rope him into Germany, I’m sure he can handle some random big bad in the middle of a Kansas cornfield. Can’t you, Spidey?”

Peter nods. “Definitely.”

Nat hums. She updates the code. 

“Now we wait.”

* * *

Tony squints at his watch for maybe the millionth time. “Hey, FRIDAY, would you be a dear and give Peter a call?”

“Of course,” she says, and twenty seconds later she’s reporting that he’s not picking up. Tony stifles the spark of worry that lights up in his chest. “Would you like to leave a message?”

“No, no, just… call May.”

“Calling May Parker.”

Three rings, an erratic heartbeat, pliers that shake in his trembling hands. He forces himself to breathe. There’s no reason to freak out. It could just be a glitch, right?

Who is he kidding. His tech doesn’t _ glitch. _

“Tony?”

“Well if it isn’t the world’s best aunt. How’s things?”

“You’re trying to butter me up for something, aren’t you?” she asks, and he can practically _ hear _her eyes squinting. “You know I can always tell. It never works. What do you want?”

“Well, I never,” Tony says. “Can’t a guy just ring up a friend to check in on things?”

May sighs. “God, I’m sorry, I’ve just had a horrible day at work. Three babies threw up on me in a row and then I ran out of money for the scrub machine, and _ then _ I was in a surgery that nearly went sour and lasted over fourteen hours. I’m _ beyond _exhausted.”

Tony accepts that. She does sound genuinely apologetic, after all, and it’s by all accounts an awful sounding day. “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you need anything? Money? A new job?”

May snorts. “You know I don’t take handouts.”

“It’s not a handout if you actually deserve the position,” Tony says. “I always need nurses on hand, especially with our idiot running around getting himself shanked in the street every other night. Speaking of, have you heard from him?”

“Yeah, he called me yesterday to tell me about some big AcaDec meet he had to prepare for. He’s staying with Ned for a couple of nights.” Her voice flattens. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, nothing, no reason,” Tony says, as breezily as possible. “An AcaDec meet you said? But he doesn’t have one until Tuesday.”

“Apparently it was rescheduled.”

“Wouldn’t the school have sent us an email?”

“Sometimes it takes them a bit,” May says. “I don’t like what you’re getting at right now, Tony. Just tell it to me straight.”

“I, uh,” he clears his throat and decides to tell it to her evasively, “so there’s no reason he would be, say, I don’t know, traipsing around Kansas?”

There’s a too long, deliberate pause. “Have I been duped by a sixteen year old boy?”

Tony pinches his brow. “It’s worse. We were both duped.”

“I don’t understand. He doesn’t—he told me he would be honest about Spider-Manning and—how the hell did he get to _ Kansas?!”_

“Beats me. Listen, I’ll get back to you once I get to the bottom of this, keep you in the loop and all that, but I gotta get going, okay?”

She sighs. “Yeah, okay. Start yelling at him for me when you find him, alright?”

“You got it.”

She hangs up. Tony pushes out of his chair and summons his suit without thinking twice. A minute later and the lab is silent, aside from the soft whirr of machinery and the beeping of various monitors.

Tony pushes his accelerators to the fastest possible speed and shoots across the New York skyline. God, what the hell is his kid doing in _ Kansas? _

* * *

Dying.

Peter is dying.

Alright so maybe that’s a little dramatic, but he _ is _getting his ass kicked. Not that he’s the only one; the whole team is having a rough go of it trying to subdue the angry rock monster that had crawled straight out of the ground. They’re getting tired. They’re running out of options.

“Kid, do me a favour and try to pin his arms to his sides,” Steve says through the comms.

“On it!” Peter replies, using their ride—a beat to hell pick up truck—as a springboard to vault through the air. If there’s one thing he hates about Kansas, it’s how desolate it is: no tall buildings nearby to jump off of or climb, no bridges, not even trees. Just miles and miles of fields, sprawling as far as the eye can see. 

It’s also _ way _ too quiet here—with the exception of the roaring monster, that is.

Peter aims his webs for the wrist of the monster and swings around, tying them together hastily. It works for maybe a second, and then the webs are snapped like zip ties.

“Oh my god,” Peter breathes. “That should _ not _be possible.”

The monster is too busy swatting at the whole ass chunks of rock that Wanda is throwing its way. Peter shakes his head in wonderment, wincing when Falcon dodges a particularly rough swat.

Then another sound makes his ears perk, distant but growing closer, tearing through the air at impossible speed.

“Oh god,” he whispers. “Party’s over, guys.”

“What?” asks Steve, and then it’s pretty clear what Peter’s talking about as Tony is skyrocketing through the air at a breakneck pace, right toward him. 

Peter dodges the attempted scoop-up at the last second, flipping up and over and landing a few feet away from his previous spot.

Unfortunately, it’s also in the exact trajectory of the monster’s next swing. 

Peter is hit. 

There’s a sickening crunch.

Then everything is black.

* * *

He doesn’t remember flying over 1,400 miles at Mach 8.5; he doesn’t even remember the Avengers being there, really; he just remembers Peter standing, Peter evading his attempted grab, and then Peter being thrown through the air like a rag doll.

He lands at least five hundred feet from where he’d been before. The crops are flattened leading up to his curled up form. His suit is torn and covered in blood from who knows how many wounds. 

That’s all Tony can remember: flying and then falling to his knees at Peter’s side, faceplate lifting so he can see with his own eyes that it really is Peter. Eyes closed, face pale, unconscious. 

He can’t even be mad. There is only fear, hot and visceral and black, like he’s sinking into a sea with impossible depths and will never break the surface again. 

“Peter,” he says, shaking his shoulder. “Peter, come on, buddy, wake up.”

Nothing. 

“FRIDAY, give me vital signs.”

“_His BPM is heightened and he’s rapidly losing blood from a laceration on his left side; he’s also suffering from multiple contusions and at least four broken ribs that I can tell.”_

Tony almost chokes. “Okay.” He breathes in and out once, “alright, Pete, just—just hold on.”

He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do. He just knows that Peter needs to _ wake up, _he needs to be okay, he has to be fine because if he’s not Tony is going to fucking lose it and the first person to face his wrath won’t be that damn rock monster, it’ll be Steve fucking Rogers. 

_ Steve fucking Rogers _who chooses that exact second to burst through the stocks with wide, terror filled eyes. “I saw—is he okay?”

“Like you give a shit,” Tony snaps, maybe just to bite, maybe because there’s no way in hell he’s letting Steve get even an inch closer. “Get _ away _ from him.”

Steve backs up a step and raises his hands placatingly, like Tony is the dangerous animal he’s trying to subdue and really, it feels like that, like he’s rabid with anger and he’s seconds away from tearing Steve’s head off for it. 

“Tony, I’m not gonna hurt him—”

“There was a time I might’ve believed you.” Tony gently, carefully scoops Peter up. “Not anymore.”

“Tony, I had no idea Nat was bringing him here, I swear—”

“_Nat?”_

Steve stills. “She just wanted to help.”

“Help?!” Tony demands. “_Help? _ By what, dragging him across the country three days before the Spanish test he’s been stressing out over to fight something you could’ve taken care of _ on your own?! _ You drag _ my kid _ into _ your shit _ to _ help _ without considering who it might _ hurt. _ Great move, Rogers, real smart. You can tell Natasha to stop fucking calling me, because there’s no way in _ hell _I’m ever gonna pick up the phone after this.”

He has just enough time to glimpse Nat and Wilson approaching, well within earshot of his tirade. Tony doesn’t care. The only thing he cares about is Peter.

He charges his repulsor jets and orders FRIDAY to take it up to Mach 9 so they can make it in half the time.

* * *

It’s bloody. It’s messy. It’s Tony laying Peter down on a gurney while Cho and her team rush around him; they give him a transfusion, apply pressure to the worst of his wounds to staunch the bleeding; then Peter wakes up in the middle of it all with wide eyes, pupils blown, and even the super-soldier pain killers aren’t enough to block out the agony of getting his left calf re-set.

He screams. Tony has to hold him down, and he keeps holding him while Peter shakes. Silent tears fall from his eyes like he’s too stunned to really cry. He stares up at Tony with something like betrayal; like Tony was the one who did this to him, like it’s all his fault.

And fuck, maybe it is. 

After all, this wouldn’t have happened if he’d given the kid a buzz before trying to grab him up. Peter wouldn’t have dodged him, and he wouldn’t have taken that hit.

God, he’s terrible. 

“I’m so sorry,” Tony whispers, and no one can hear him over the bustle of the trauma room; no one but Peter, who is too deep in his pain to really comprehend the words. 

Cho starts to wrap his ribs. Even with her gentle touch, it’s too much for the kid to bear. He passes out. 

* * *

Peter wakes up to the sound of steadily beeping monitors. The air smells of antiseptic and detergent. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know he’s in a hospital. 

“I can tell you’re awake,” says a voice. “Lying there looking ugly won't fool me.”

“You think I’m ugly?”

Tony’s eyebrows are drawn. He reaches out to feel Peter’s forehead like he has a fever or something. “Well the bruises don’t help, kid.”

Peter hums. His mouth feels like a wasp’s nest, it’s so dry, and when his gaze falls on the pink plastic pitcher by his bedside, Tony doesn’t waste any time before filling up a cup for him. He holds it to Peter’s mouth while he sips from a straw like a five year old. It’s mortally embarrassing. 

“So… I got my ass kicked.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “What you did is scare the shit out of me. I think I had a stroke, but I didn’t want to bother Cho while she was trying to save your life.” He sniffs. “I toughed it out.”

“Explains why the left side of your face is all saggy,” Peter quips, “oh wait—that’s just cuz you’re so old.”

Tony shakes his head. He perches on the edge of Peter’s bed with impossible grace considering the circumstances. “You were keeping some interesting company.”

Peter feels his cheeks heat. He tries to sit up, but Tony reaches out to stop him before he can. “Hey, I’m not gonna bite your head off. Relax.”

“You’re—you’re _ not?”_

“No,” Tony says, “because I think you’ve learned your own lesson.”

“And what’s that?”

“Fighting with war criminals gets you into deep shit,” Tony says. “Can we at least agree on that? Or am I going to have to show you the footage of Pretzel Parker?”

Peter scowls. “It wasn’t their fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going—”

“Oh, okay.” Tony stands. Buttons the waistcoat of his suit. “I was under the impression that we’d be on the same page here. So much for that.”

“Mr Stark—”

“Don’t even—” he holds his breath, pinches his brow, and starts again. “They dragged you fifteen hundred miles away from your home, convinced you to lie, convinced you to put yourself in more danger than you _ ever _should have been in, and you want to defend them?”

Peter’s protest dies on his tongue. He hangs his head and picks at his blankets. “They were just…”

“Just what?” Tony asks. “I didn’t catch that.”

“They just wanted to see you again.”

Tony stills. For a long minute he just stares at Peter like he’s never even seen him before. He turns around, turns back, and scrubs a hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he says, “you think that’s an excuse? You think that’s a valid reason to drag _ my kid _ across the country without telling me and throw him into a dangerous situation where _ no one _ is spotting him and—and then you almost _ died _and—”

He cuts himself off abruptly. Peter leans forward, eyes wide. “Mr Stark?”

“Just—” he takes a deep breath. “Just get some sleep. I’m calling May.”

Then he storms out without another word. Peter is left alone, heart collapsing in his chest like a dying star, wrung with the heaviest guilt. 

* * *

“You are _ sixteen years old—_”

“Yeah, that,” Tony echoes, “_sixteen._”

“You have to be _ crazy _ to think I’d be okay with you running off to _ Kansas—_”

“Absolutely insane,” Tony tacks on.

“Did Richard drop you on your head too many times as a baby? What the _ fuck, _Peter?!”

“Yeah, what the fuck, Peter?”

May holds up a hand. She’s done yelling for now, at least, but her chest is still heaving and Peter would literally pay the ground to swallow him. He tries not to let it show, though. After all, they’ll never respect him as anything more than just a dumb kid if he doesn’t stick up for himself, right? 

“I had to go. It was like twenty miles out from the nearest town and it was _ huge! _People could have died!”

“_You _ could have died!” They screech together. 

“Jeez,” Peter mutters. “It’s not like I did, though, right? I mean, I’m healing up good. My ribs are fine now, I’m not all bruised up—”

“You still can’t _ walk,”_ Tony snaps. “You’ll be on crutches for at least three days. God, you are just…” he pinches his fingers together, “_this _close to pushing me to file for dad divorce.”

Peter blinks. “Um. What?”

“You heard me,” Tony snaps. “I’ve had it up to here!”

“The lying,” May adds, “the running off without telling anyone where you’re going, the sneaking around—”

“That’s like the same thing three times.”

Tony makes a _ zip it _sign. “Don’t interrupt!” 

Peter snaps his mouth shut. He sits there and listens to May roll, and by the end feels pretty stupid. Still, he sticks to his guns. It’s true, after all. People could have gotten seriously hurt. He would have been even more disgusted with himself if he hadn’t tried to help and he _ knows _that.

“You’re grounded,” May finishes. “For a month.”

“Wait—a _ month?”_

“Kansas, Peter!” 

“But—”

“No ‘buts’!”

Peter groans and flops back onto the bed. He hears them both sigh, and he knows they’re probably doing that thing where they have a silent conversation. In the end, it’s May who retreats, probably because right now she’s the angrier of the two and that’s saying something. At least Tony’s had a few hours to cool off. She’s just been stewing since she got off work.

“Budge up, buttercup.”

Peter glares. Nonetheless, he makes room for Tony. “You know, yelling at teenagers is the most ineffective way to get them to listen.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Who says?”

“Like… science.”

Tony snorts. “If you say so. Good thing we switched tactics and decided to go for a little old fashioned good cop bad cop, huh?”

“And you’re supposed to be the good cop?”

Tony flicks his forehead. “Your sass is off the charts today. I’m a little impressed, really.”

Peter rolls onto his side. “I just wish you had more faith in me.”

Tony heaves a heavy sigh, shoulders falling. “It’s not that I don’t have faith in you—”

Peter scoffs.

“_Really, _it’s not. I think you could take on the whole world and win, kiddo. I just don’t want that to be now. I want you to have a chance to be… a regular kid. I know it seems like the worst thing in the world, but you’ll regret it later, I promise.”

“How do you know?”

“‘Cuz I just do.” When Peter frowns, he clears his throat and decides to plunge into specifics. “Me, I spent my teen years drinking and doing drugs and all the yada yada the tabloids won’t shut up about. I didn’t think I was missing out on much, but I did. I’m trying to…” he frowns, frustrated. “I’m trying to ensure a better childhood for you than the one I got.”

“But I’m _ not _a kid anymore—”

“Yes you are!” Tony bursts, and a second later his face is painted with regret for having snapped at Peter. “You’re sixteen years old. You’ve barely lived yet. Take it from my old as hell ass. I _ know _it seems like the whole world is your responsibility, but it’s not. Even Queens, kid… you’re shouldering too much here. It’s not expansion time yet. I have a hard enough time letting you watch out for an entire borough.”

Peter bites back a thousand retorts, like how it’s not Tony’s call, like how Tony isn’t really his dad, like how at the end of the day it should be up to Peter to decide what he can handle… 

He swallows them down because they’re all bullshit. 

Instead he pats the bed. 

“What is this? What does that mean? Do you need a new mattress? Would you like memory foam or feathers?”

Peter rolls his eyes. He pats the bed again. “Just please?”

(And Tony doesn’t know if, under normal circumstances, he would have. He just knows with the way the kid is looking at him, all pleading puppy dog eyes, voice soft and laced with sleep, he can’t _ not._)

“Of course, kiddo.”

Peter grins victoriously as Tony reclines next to him on the bed. He curls against his side, eyes heavy. “I’m sorry for running off and lying.”

“Well good. I’m sorry for yelling and inadvertently almost killing you.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes it was.”

“No it wasn’t.”

Tony sighs. “Whatever. You think what you think, I’ll think what I think.”

“And then we call the whole thing off?”

Tony snorts. “Funny.” 

Peter hums, feeling heavy with exhaustion. Just staying awake long enough to get yelled at is hard. Normally when he’s taken hits this bad, he’s out straight for a few days. 

“Are you still mad at me?” he asks, just as he’s about to drift off.

Fingers card through his hair, hesitant, halting as he speaks. “I’m willing to let it go if you do.”

Peter smiles a little. “Deal.”

* * *

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite little spinner.”

Peter wakes up a little while later and finds that Tony is still there, asleep in the bed. He shifts and rubs his eyes as he sits up, which thankfully doesn’t hurt as much now. 

Natasha Romanoff is standing at the end of his bed with her arms folded across her chest, smirking. 

“Howdy,” he says awkwardly, waving.

She startles him with a genuine snort of laughter. “Yeah, I’m officially jealous that you’re Team Tony. We could use an awkward little dweeb like you around to lighten the mood.”

“Too bad,” Tony mumbles sleepily, causing them both to jump a little. “He’s not for sale.”

Peter has a brief, horrific flash of a world where Tony is so protective he writes his name in bold on the bottom of Peter’s shoes like in _ Toy Story. _He shudders. 

Nat rounds the bed to stand on Tony’s side. She reaches out just as he’s opening his eyes, and the smile she offers is softer, lighter. “Hey, idiot.”

“Nat,” Tony says. “I see you snuck in. How very not surprising of you.”

Natasha purses her lips. “I do it more than you think,” she tells him, almost defensively. 

“So that was you hiding under my bed last week?”

She laughs. “Shut up.”

Peter doesn’t know what to say. He’s never really seen Tony like this and certainly not Nat. With the team she had been abrupt and brash and dry. With Tony, it’s almost like watching two siblings speak. 

“You kidnapped my kid,” Tony says. 

“I did,” Nat agrees. “I missed you. Are you mad?”

“Yes,” Tony says. And then, “no.”

“Everyone misses you,” she adds. “Even—”

“Don’t say his name.”

“_Tony.”_

“I’m serious.” Tony sits up suddenly. “You, I can tolerate. Him? No.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Are you ever going to tell me what the hell happened between you two, or am I just supposed to keep guessing?”

Peter clears his throat before Tony can snap back. “Should I, like, leave you two alone?”

“No. This is your convalescence room. You’re convalescing. Be silent.”

Peter closes his mouth. He finds Natasha’s eyes on him, studying him intently. “He’s a good fighter,” she says to Tony after a small pause. “Works well with the others.”

“Irrelevant.”

“Uh, I think it’s super relevant actually,” Peter cuts in.

Tony slaps a hand over his mouth. He looks right at Natasha. “Have you said what you wanted to say?”

Natasha tilts her head. “Mostly.”

“Then please, slink back into the shadows from whence you came.”

Natasha takes a step back. She’s still watching them though, and on her way out the door she says, “Hey Tony?”

“Yes, Agent Romanoff?”

She smirks. “You’re a good dad.”

They both still. Peter finds himself looking to Tony, carefully awaiting his reaction; it comes in the form of a haughty sniff. “I know,” he says, and then she’s gone.

* * *

Two weeks later Peter walks into the lab and finds every upper surface clean of any tools. The ground, however, is riddled with car parts. Tony is half obscured beneath the body of a beat up Mustang. 

Peter drops his backpack. He kneels. “What’s up?”

Tony jumps so violently he hits his head on a pipe. “_Jesus, _ kid,” he snaps as he rolls out from underneath the car, “are you _ trying _to give me a heart attack?”

“Yes,” Peter says simply.

Tony glares as he wipes his hands. “Well that’s very rude of you. How dare.”

Peter grins. He folds his legs and begins inspecting the busted parts. Tony only works on cars when he’s anxious, which must mean…

A cell phone rings. Peter’s attention snaps to a flip phone a little ways away, almost hidden among the scattered parts. He watches as Tony lunges to answer it. 

“You’ve got Stark.”

If it weren’t for his enhanced hearing, he wouldn’t be able to hear the voice on the other line.

But he does, and it makes him smile.

“_Tony? It’s Steve.”_

**Author's Note:**

> dhwlqijwhdieu idk what this was but lmk what you thought,,,I was real sick of the classic "peter walks into tony's penthouse one day and finds the avengers just, like, chilling" thing and decided to uh, subvert it? if this even counts as subversion. lmao anyway byeee ily all


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